


How the Hell Did I Get Here?

by cerulean_irene



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Pining, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:15:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25744195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cerulean_irene/pseuds/cerulean_irene
Summary: Because ever since that first post-practice conversation, things between Shitty and Larissa had been easy. They were Shitty and Lardo. A relationship that defied the normal boundaries and expectations of friendship. Everyone thought they were dating or should be dating. But they weren’t. They didn’t want to be. Because what they had was better. Then Larissa fucked it up. She put all her cards on the table and made her stupid, romantic feelings all too clear. And Shitty just ... didn’t do anything. It was the worst type of rejection.In which Shitty and Lardo become friends with benefits, Lardo doesn't know what she wants, and things get messy. And somehow Jack ends up being the emotionally mature one.
Relationships: (background), Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Jack Zimmermann, Larissa "Lardo" Duan/Shitty Knight
Comments: 5
Kudos: 69
Collections: Check Please Heartbreak Fest 2020





	How the Hell Did I Get Here?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kirani](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kirani/gifts).



> As I was writing this a realized the timing of the main action happens around November 2016, and since I like fictional angst, but not real world angst, lets just imagine this happens in a world where the 2016 election goes differently.

November 2016  


When Larissa wonders how she got here – sitting in Alexei Maskov’s kitchen trying not to cry while the confused Russian attempts to make blueberry pancakes – she’s not exactly sure where to start. Maybe she should start when she played flip cup for the first time, beat a pair of D-men whose names she still couldn’t keep straight, discovered a hidden talent, and became Lardo. Or further back when she looked Jack Zimmerman in the eye and promised she could keep twenty-five hockey bros in line, no problem. Or even before that when only after only a month on the job, she decided she couldn’t take working for the fundraising office any longer, found the position for hockey team manager on the student employment website, and figured that anything would be better than calling annoyed alumni to ask for money. But that’s a story for another time, so instead we’ll start at her junior year art show.

February 2015  


“I ... got into Harvard,” Shitty says, and before Larissa can react their friends are descending on them in a giant celly. Surrounded by large hockey players Larissa feels her heart clenching irrationally and her eyes welling up. Suddenly it all feels to real, Shitty is leaving in a few months. No more Friday afternoons spent smoking on the roof or late-night trips to Superberry. No more long bus rides where he falls asleep on top of her or lunches at the dining hall between classes. What is wrong with her that she can’t even be happy for her best friend when he got into his dream school? she wonders. And another, darker part of her mind thinks, Why did he have to find out on tonight of all nights? Why did he have to ruin her junior show?  


Larissa pushes her way out of the huddle her friends have formed, rushing towards the exit while trying to wipe her eyes discretely. She needs to pull herself together before one of her friends notices. This was the best-case scenario really. Harvard is only thirty minutes from Samwell, not to mention it was Shitty’s top choice.  


Apparently, her exit wasn’t subtle enough, though. No more than thirty seconds after she left Bitty exits the building to find her crying on the back steps. Bitty sits down next to Larissa with a sad look in his eyes. “It’s going hard when Shitty and Jack leave. I can’t imagine the team without them. I’m sure Ransom or Holster will make a great captain but...” Bitty trails off quietly. Larissa feels a rush of gratitude towards Bitty because of course he understands why she’s upset without having to ask. Because while she was so busy feeling sorry for herself, he was right there going through the exact same thing. Except it wasn’t really the same thing. Everyone knew that Bitty was half in love with Jack – well actually Larissa wasn’t sure who knew that besides herself – and Jack might be moving across the country. The last she heard he was talking to an agent from Seattle. Shitty was only moving thirty minutes away. And it wasn’t like Larissa was in love with him or anything. Sure, he was her best friend but ... continuing down that train of thought made her feel queasy.  


Larissa stands up abruptly, breaking the contemplative silence that had fallen over them, “Have you tried the free cocktails?” she asks, “Because I want to get drunk on expensive cocktails, then get fro-yo and make fun of our friends’ interpretations of art. And since it’s my junior show, you have to do what I want.”  
“Sounds like a plan,” Bitty says. Larissa decides to ignore his pitying smile. At least Bitty isn’t leaving her. 

June 2015  


“I’ve made a mistake,” Larissa groans. “This is all your fault,” she says as she rolls from her back to her side to glare at Shitty who is currently sitting on the floor next to her, leaning his back against her bed. He had somehow convinced her to try the (extraordinary strong) homemade edibles had had baked. And while she usually would have been very happy to spend a Saturday afternoon getting stoned with Shitty, she was staying with her parents for the summer. Which meant family dinner. And given how she was feeling now, the weed wasn’t working its way out of her system anytime soon. Good thing she had lots of practice at pretending not to be high during family dinners from her teen years. It was like she was in high school all over again. Not a feeling she savored.  


“Can I stay for dinner?” Shitty asks, seeming to ignore her complaints.  


“I already said no.”  


“But whyyyyyy? Your mom cooks so well and my parents fucking suck.” Shitty is looking at her with his big, pretty green eyes and it’s hard to say no to him, so she doesn’t respond. Wait, since when did she think his eyes were pretty? Objectively, Shitty had always been a fairly attractive guy. Not Samwell Swallow 50 most beautiful level like Jack or Ransom, but fit and generally good-looking. But she’d never thought about him like that. Ever since he walked up to her after her first practice of manager – when she was pretty sure she wanted to quit because they were all so loud and what even was this sport – introduced himself, and started ranting about the expectations of toxic masculinity in sports, he had always just been Shitty. Until suddenly, that didn’t feel right anymore.  
Larissa sits up with a jolt. “Your eyes look pretty.” Why did she say that? Now that she’s sitting up, she realizes just how close her face is to Shitty’s. All she would have to do is lean forward a couple of inches and tilt her head up and their lips would be touching. Shitty’s eyes widen in surprise at her statement (they really are a nice, deep green color), but he doesn’t seem displeased. Maybe it’s the weed, maybe it’s the feeling that this summer is the end of an era, or maybe they have been building towards this moment for three years and Larissa only just realized it. But for whatever reason, Larissa does the foolish thing and lean forward, tilts her head up, and kisses Shitty.  


For a moment, its perfect. Shitty kisses her back and she leans into it, reaching up to grab his, now short, hair. But like all perfect things, it ends quickly. Shitty places a firm hand on her shoulder and pushes her away. “We shouldn’t,” he says.  


Larissa has always valued her poker face. Her ability to appear non-plussed in all situations. She’s pretty sure its ninety percent of the reason she’s a good manager for SMH. It chooses this moment to fail her. Shitty must see the dejected look on her face because he apologetically adds, “We’re really high.” Right, informed consent. For once Larissa wishes Shitty wasn’t such a good feminist. “Maybe some other time.” He says it like he’s turning down a dinner invitation. Then he leaves with none of his usual complaints about being kicked out, none of the usual excuses that extend his visit by an extra half hour. Fuck. 

*********************************************************************************************************************************************************************

The Incident (that’s what Larissa calls it in her head) should have changed something between them. Shitty should have reiterated how he was sorry, but he just wanted to be friends and Larissa would have apologized and said she was out of line, and it would have been intensely awkward at first, but they would have gotten over it. Because their friendship was stronger than that, right? Or alternatively, in Larissa’s more indulgent fantasies Shitty would have confessed how he couldn’t stop thinking about the kiss, how he had been in love with her since they had met and then... Larissa is not actually sure how that fantasy ends. Because as much as she has caught herself daydreaming about it (too much) and as good as the kiss had been (and it had been good, until it wasn’t of course), Larissa can’t actually picture what a relationship between the two of them would look like. Because Larissa had spent the past three years insisting that she didn’t want a relationship because she was too busy. And she had meant it. Or at least she thought she had. And Shitty had spent the past three years going on about how our society overemphasizes romantic relationships and the cost of all other relationships and the pressure young people feel to date is really just another facet of the cisheteropatriarchy. A relationship between two people like that would be doomed to failure, right?  


But none of that matters because the morning after the incident, instead of doing either of those things, Shitty texts Larissa a meme making fun of art students and without even thinking she sends him a picture of her middle finger. And just like that they were back to normal. Larissa texting him when things are slow at her internship and she’s bored out of her mind; late night drives around winding roads of the Boston suburbs; him showing up at Duan family dinners uninvited and annoyingly charming her parents. Nothing had changed.  


Scrap that, everything had changed. Because ever since that first post-practice conversation, things between Shitty and Larissa had been easy. They were Shitty and Lardo. A relationship that defied the normal boundaries and expectations of friendship. Everyone thought they were dating or should be dating. But they weren’t. They didn’t want to be. Because what they had was better. Then Larissa fucked it up. She put all her cards on the table and made her stupid, romantic feelings all too clear. And Shitty just ... didn’t do anything. It was the worst type of rejection. 

************************************************************************************************************************************************************************

They’re at Shitty’s house when it happens. His parents on vacation in Barcelona for Fourth of July weekend which means that for once Shitty isn’t trying to escape his house and Larissa can come over to enjoy their extravagant leather couches and expensive alcohol collection. Larissa is about to open a bottle of ridiculously overpriced whiskey when Shitty calls out from behind her. “Wait.”  


“Oh is this one fancy enough for your dad to notice its missing? I thought he only cared about the ones on the bottom shelf,” she says casually.  
“No, it’s not that. It’s um ... I was thinking ... I wanted to,” Shitty seems uncharacteristically lost for words, so Larissa turns around to see what’s going on. Shitty’s leaning against the kitchen island in what Larissa assumes is a (failed) attempt to look casual. “Um remember that time we were really high and you uh, tried to kiss me?” Shit, Larissa does not want to be having this conversation. She knows it’s the mature, adult thing to do, but she really thought she had gotten out of it.  


“Um yeah, look I’m really so—”  


“We’re not high now,” Shitty interrupts. Larissa raises her eyebrows, unsure where this is going. “I mean, we could try again, if you still want to, I mean...”  


This has to be one of the most awkward conversations Larissa has ever had, so Larissa decides it’s about time to end it. “If you wanted to kiss me you could have just asked.”  


It turns out the expensive leather of the couch in living room feels great with her back pressed up against it, Shitty on top of her.

********************************************************************************************************************************************************************

July turns to August and Larissa learns that the advantage of Shitty having rich parents is they go on vacation a lot and their house has many, many different rooms to have sex in. She still ends up reliving the awkwardness of making out on the twin bed in her childhood bedroom (it was worth it). And then suddenly it was time to go back to school. Hockey practices started a week before Shitty started classes, so he helped her move in. She was the first one into the Haus, so he also helped her christen the bed. It would have been amazing, except it felt too much like break-up sex, or at least what Larissa imagined break-up sex would feel like, all desperate kisses and over too fast for Larissa’s taste. Then Ransom and Holster barge into the house and all too soon Shitty is saying good-bye. Larissa rushes back to her room, saying she needs to finish unpacking, before Ransom and Holster notice she’s crying. Luckily Bitty isn’t there to ask questions. 

**********************************************************************************************************************************************************************

Larissa has had friends with benefits before. In fact, it was kind of her M.O. There had always been a conversation, Larissa loved hanging out, the sex was great, but Larissa wasn’t looking for a serious relationship right now, didn’t want to be exclusive. That way expectations were clear and no one’s feelings got hurt. As Shitty said, communication is crucial to any successful relationship. Which is why it was so confusing that Shitty wasn’t communicating with her. That she had no idea what they were doing, what they wanted. That she honestly wasn’t sure what she wanted. In the past Larissa had always been the one to initiate the awkward “what is this” conversation, but this time she’d assumed Shitty would do it. Had been expecting it after that first glorious night at his parents’ house. That was his thing, right? But Shitty never initiated “The Talk” and so they never had it.  


Instead they fall into a kind of unofficial routine: Shitty drops by the Haus for afternoon visits – sometimes planned, but usually spontaneous – they play video games with Ransom and Holster or watch the game with whoever decided to drop by. It’s just like old times, they’re just bros. As afternoon turns to evening, they sneak up to her room. The sex is amazing, though they have to keep the noise down. Shitty was quite an advocate for men giving oral sex as much as they received it. And he is pretty great at it. Sometimes Shitty stays the night, snuggling into her twin bed, then leaving early in the morning to make his 9 am lectures. Larissa tries not to feel rejected when she wakes up to an empty bed after he’s left. More often, he makes a late-night drive back to Cambridge. Between visits, well their Snapchat streak is going nearly two years strong (ever since she’d gotten back from Kenya), but it is completely PG (okay, Shitty was sometimes naked in his selfies, but it had always been like that). It’s almost like before. Except Larissa felt like she talks to Shitty less than ever.

**********************************************************************************************************************************************************************

“Me and Jack are dating!” Larissa feels a lot of things at once: there’s the overwhelming relief – Bitty had been so stressed recently and keeping the relationship secret had clearly been making it worse; there’s the warmth she feels towards Jack and Bitty, two of her best friends, finally sharing this big part of their life with her, and they’re so cute together; there’s the familiar satisfaction of winning the bet between her friends about when Jack and Bitty would tell them; but underneath that all, a treacherous, confusing stream of jealousy. The worst part is that she isn’t even sure what she is jealous of. The fairytale, too sweet romance that Jack and Bitty had going on, that was Bitty’s fantasy, not hers. She didn’t want that. Right? She doesn’t have time to think about that though, not when Jack and Shitty are visiting, when their little group is all together for the first time in months. So, she pushes the unpleasant feelings and does what does best – texts Jack under the table for deets he won’t share with the whole group. 

*********************************************************************************************************************************************************************

The problem with Jack dating Bitty is he’s become weirdly perceptive about feelings. And even worse, he wants to talk about them. It starts with a text the day after he has returned to Providence.  
Jack: So... you and Shitty?  
Lardo: Yes. We are the best things that have ever happened to you.  
Lardo: Excluding Bitty  
Jack: You know what I mean  
Lardo: I don’t know.  
Lardo: I mean. I know what you mean. But I don’t know what we’re doing  
Jack: You haven’t talked about it?  
Lardo: No.  
Lardo: Which is fucking weird right? Since when does Shitty not talk about things?! I have no clue what’s going on with him anymore.  
Jack: You could just ask him. Or you could tell him what you want.  
Lardo: I don’t know what I want. That’s the problem  
Jack: You should really talk to Shitty about this  
Lardo: If I tell you about my Southeast Asian history seminar will you let this go?  


He does let it go. Except every time he visits the Haus (which is all the time no that he and Bitty are open about their relationship) he looks at her with these sad, worried eyes. Which is ridiculous because it’s not like she’s pining or anything. She’s the one that didn’t want a relationship in college. But it’s annoying that Jack Zimmermann of all people is worried about her relationship status.  


Maybe that’s why the next time Shitty’s texting her about how amazing it is that his best bro Jack Fucking Zimmerman is dating Eric Fucking Bittle and Jack is thinking about coming out and creating NHL history, she decides to ask him.  
Lardo: Have you ever thought about doing it?  
Shitty: Setting queer sports history? Because I would except I am tragically heterosexual and not good enough at hockey.  
Lardo: No. The official relationship thing.  


Shitty calls her, “Are you saying you want an official relationship?” he says when she picks up. She should have expected this, should have had a plan before she brought this up. She wanted so badly to know how Shitty felt, she hadn’t stop to think about what she actually wanted. And now... now she was taking entirely too long to respond to Shitty’s question. I don’t know what I want. All I know is I miss you all the time. The words get stuck in her throat.  


Shitty fill the silence, “Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked,” he says, sounding dejected, “I know – “  


“I don’t want a long-distance relationship.” Larissa avoids the fact that most people wouldn’t consider the distance between Samwell and Cambridge to be long-distance. “It’s been really hard on Bitty,” she continues. It’s definitely the long-distance thing that’s hard on him. Not the dating a closeted NHL player thing. “And I’m just so stressed right now. And we’re both so busy! I just don’t think I could do that...”  


“Yeah you’re right,” Shitty doesn’t sound convinced.  


“I just ... wanted to make sure I wasn’t holding you back from like, dating other girls or something. I mean, you could date if you wanted. Not that you needed my permission. That’s just what I meant.”  


“I know,” Shitty’s voice sounds off, but Larissa can’t place why. A voice that sounds annoyingly like Jack (since when is Jack the emotionally mature one?) tells her she should have had this conversation in person, so she could see the expression on Shitty’s face. Maybe then she would know what he was thinking. “Look, I should really get working on this law review...”  


“Right, um, have a good night.”  


“Bye.”  


Larissa’s not sure if this is true because it’s not like she was keeping track, but it seems like Shitty visits less after that. At least they’re still hooking up. At least she has that. 

*********************************************************************************************************************************************************************

Ransom decides to go into management consulting, at least for now, and suddenly he and Holster are interviewing at firms in Boston. They’re talking to Shitty about renting a house in Cambridge together. Larissa agrees to be their fourth roommate if she can find a job in Boston. Suddenly, Ransom is sending her listings for every entry-level job in the greater Boston area with the word art in it. (Seriously, she’s pretty sure he has an Indeed alert for it. Its infuriating ... and also really thoughtful). Larissa doesn’t even like half the jobs Ransom sends her, but she applies for them anyway because maybe, just maybe if they’re finally in the same city, in the same house, she can finally fix the rift that seems to have formed between Shitty and her, the weirdness that hangs in the air whenever they are in the same room now.  


Then, when she actually feels like she might have a plan, or at least the start of one, she gets an email that changes everything. She’d submitted a portfolio for the fellowship mostly because her advisor forced her to. She didn’t actually think, didn’t ever even consider, that she would get it. But then she gets the email, an offer. A year to work on her art. She would actually get paid to make art, it’s a dream come true. It’s in New York City. She can’t turn it down. Not when this is everything she has worked for, dreamed of, proof that’s a good artist, that she wasn’t foolish for majoring in art. It’s ridiculous that she even considers turning it down. But, still, it feels like she is leaving so much behind. Maybe that’s just what growing up feels like.

August 2016  


Her parents help her move into her new apartment, a tiny studio in Brooklyn. Her mom insists on helping set up construct the Ikea furniture and her dad leaves her with a map of the NYC subway system even though she tells him she can use the app. Then they’re gone, they have a train to catch. Staring around the tiny apartment in a city full of strangers, Larissa suddenly realizes she’s never lived alone before. When her family moved from San Francisco to Waltham when she was twelve not having to share a room with her little sister felt like a luxury. Then at Samwell she lived in a series of dorm rooms and then of course the Haus. Even in Kenya she had a host family. The apartment feels to quiet. She wants to call Shitty. Instead she puts on Spotify and tries to finish unpacking. No matter how high she turns up the music, she can’t seem to drown out the silence. 

October 2016  


Larissa’s art is flourishing. As much as she loved managing the hockey team, as much as she would do it again if she had the choice, if she could stay there forever, Larissa realized she never truly immersed herself in the art world. Sure, she had art friends, she even lived in suite with some of them her junior year. But, her family, her home was with the hockey team. And for better or for worse, they took up a lot of her time. Now, that time was filled with visiting art galleries and plays. And it helped her art. To be around people who were doing the same thing, to have friends who could give her honest critiques.  
But no one calls her Lardo here. She watches Falconers and Samwell games alone now because none of her new friends like hockey. She spends more than one party surreptitiously checking game scores on her phone, ignoring the conversations going on around her. It hurts to feel like she’s leaving her old life behind. Even worse, it feels like her old life has moved on without her. During the pre-season Ford would text with questions every couple of days, but now she seems to have things handled on her own. The periodic updates she gets from Bitty have become more infrequent too. And Shitty ... well they Skyped every week at first, but now ... its every other week at most.  


***********************************************************************************************************************************************************************

It all comes to a head when she’s Skyping with Shitty for the for the first time in ... she’s not actually sure how long. He’s talking about his legal internship search. “So I’ve been looking at a couple of LGBTQ rights groups and some immigrant defense groups that do pro bono work,” he pauses for a moment, seeming hesitant to say this next part, “And I’ve applied to a couple places my dad suggested.”  
“Since when do you take your dad’s career advice,” Larissa says. She meant to say it jokingly, but it comes off harsher then intended.  
“It’s not like I want to go into corporate law or anything,” Shitty says defensively, “It’s just a lot of the other internships don’t pay, and a year or two at a corporate gig wouldn’t be too bad. At least until I’m established.” And that, that doesn’t sound like Shitty. The Shitty Larissa knows, or knew, is idealistic, even to the point of impracticality. And the idea that Shitty had changed, well that makes her irrationally angry. It makes her angry and hurt in a way that she doesn’t completely understand, in a way that scares her so deeply that all she can think about is how to make it stop. So, she does the one thing she never thought she would do and hits Shitty where it hurts.  


“Sure, it’s just a year or two now. But then you realize you like the money too much, and next thing you know its twenty years later, you’re still there, and you’re just like your dad.” Larissa knows that she’s being ridiculous, that’s she’s turning this into an argument for no reason. That she doesn’t actually believe what she’s saying, she’s saying it just to be mean. But it feels so good. After months of tension simmering between them silently and unacknowledged its such relief to actually argue with him, even if she’s not completely sure what they’re arguing about.  
Shitty looks stunned for a couple of seconds, but then he’s back with a biting response, “Yeah, well not all of us can fuck off to New York to make art or whatever. Some of us have to grow up and have real careers.” It stings. She didn’t think he would go there, ever, because he knows that it’s her deepest insecurity, that her dream of making art is impractical. But that’s not fair is it, because she had just done the exact same thing to him. She just never thought he would have it in him to hurt her back.  


Suddenly Larissa knows she has to end this call before she breaks down crying, before she shows weakness. “Yeah, well I think I’m better off here,” she spits out before hanging up. She pushes the laptop to the side, pulls her knees up to her chest, and finally lets herself cry. Because she’s in love with Shitty. She’s in love with Byron Sterling Knight, and she just now admitted it to herself in the same moment she burned everything to the ground. 

************************************************************************************************************************************************************************

Larissa wants to call Shitty back to apologize almost immediately. Instead she waits two weeks. She tries to type out a text to him a few times, tries to think about what she would say. I’m so sorry; I didn’t mean it; I miss you; I feel like I’m losing you; I think I’m in love with you; I don’t want to lose you; I’m so, so sorry; please don’t leave me. She never sends anything. Shitty doesn’t text her.  


A text will never be enough, so instead she packs a duffle bag. The train from New York to Boston take four hours, five if you count in the time in the subway from Brooklyn to Manhattan and Boston to Cambridge. Larissa works in the studio in the morning, then leaves in the afternoon. She arrives in the early evening. It’s not until she’s standing on the doorstep of Haus 2.0 that she realizes that she has absolutely no plan. She probably should have told someone she was coming. She briefly considers turning around and taking the train back before squaring her shoulders and ringing the doorbell.  


Ransom is the one to answer the door. “Lardo?! What are you doing here?” he looks extremely confused, but pulls her into a hug anyway.  


“I, uh came to see Shitty.” Larissa suddenly realizes how incredibly presumptuous it was to show up on a Friday night with a duffle bag as if the past two weeks – as if her and Shitty’s fight – had never happened. With a sinking feeling in her gut Larissa thinks about the one possibility she had ignored up until this point, the one possibility that she refuses to think about because its too painful. What if Shitty doesn’t want to see me?  


“Shitty’s, uh, out...” Ransom interrupts Larissa from her thoughts, “You should come in though!” Ransom ushers her inside and onto a couch that is only marginally cleaner than the one in the original Haus. Before she knows what’s going on he thrusts a plate of Bitty pie into her lap (Larissa feels a pang of nostalgia as she bites into it) and settles into the chair across from her looking far to apprehensive for her liking.  


It is only then that Larissa realizes how quiet the Haus is. “Where’s Holster?” she asks.  


“He’s on a date,” Ransom replies. He seems unhappy about it, but before Larissa has time to consider that observation he continues, “He and Shitty are actually on a double date.” Ransom is looking at her with pity as he says that, and she wonders just how transparent she has been with her feelings for Shitty. And, well, he’s not wrong, it stings. Its not fair for her to feel jealous, not when she’s been on dates too. She’s twenty-two and bi and living in New York City, its not like she was lacking for options. And if she was trying to forget about a certain mustachioed friend of hers, well isn’t that what Tinder’s for? It had just never occurred to her that Shitty might be doing the same thing.  


Larissa recovers quickly though, “Well I wanted to see you too!” she says forcing a smile “It’s been too long since I beat you at Mario Kart.”  


“I ... uh actually have to go to the hospital in like ... fifteen minutes,” at her confused look he continues, “I volunteer there, still trying to decide if I want to go to med school, but you know, I need to get in those clinical hours.” He’s saying this like he’s already told Larissa about it, and maybe he has, Larissa honestly can’t remember. She wonders just how many developments in her friends’ lives she’s missed. “But you should make yourself comfortable! There’s more pie and I’ll be back at ten. And Shitty and Holster will be back ... sometime. I think our other roommate is out, so you won’t have to deal with her. Which is great because she like honestly hates us...” Ransom rambles on. Larissa really should have thought this through more.  


After about half an hour of scrolling through Netflix and hoping the mysterious fourth roommate doesn’t come home, Larissa decides she really doesn’t want to be here. She looks at the game schedules on her phone to confirm that Samwell has in away game and the Falconers have a game tomorrow night but not tonight. Which means she knows one person who won’t have Friday night plans. She at least thinks to text in advance this time. 

**********************************************************************************************************************************************************************

Jack picks her up from the Providence train station then gives her concerned looks for the entire ride. Then for the second time in less than two hours she finds herself shepherded onto a couch (at least Jack’s couch is much nicer than the one in Haus 2.0) and handed a slice of pie (she’s not complaining about that). Jack settles on the other end of the couch, resting his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands. “It might help to talk about it,” he sounds weirdly like Bitty when he says that  


“Can we just not tonight?”  


Jack shoots her one more concerned look before turning on the TV and starting to talk about a docuseries he has wanted to try. When she asks for another slice of pie in place of dinner it is clear that after five years, he has truly perfected the long-suffering sigh, but he doesn’t comment beyond that. Larissa has never felt more grateful for him. 

************************************************************************************************************************************************************************

Jack’s indulgence of her avoidance tactics ends the next morning. “Shitty’s on his way,” Jack tells her, when she enters the kitchen.  


“You told him I was here?” she asks.  


“He was worried. He wanted to come last night,” Jack says. He shoots her a look that says Did you really want me to lie to my best friend? and Please don’t make me take sides in this, and, yeah, she definitely deserves to feel guilty for that.  


“I don’t know what to say to him. I didn’t really think this through,” Larissa admits.  


Jack’s face softens, “It’s Shitty, he can’t stay mad at you.” Larissa wishes she shared his certainty. Which is why when Jack leaves to pick up Shitty from the train station, she begins to panic. She suddenly knows with absolute certainty that she is not ready to talk to Shitty, not yet. She also remembers Jack talking about how Alexei Maskov moved into the same building as her.

************************************************************************************************************************************************************************

Which is how she ended up here, in Alexei Mashkov’s kitchen, quite literally running away from her problems. The rational part of her brain knows that what she is doing is ridiculous and immature, but she stopped listening to that part of her brain weeks ago. Anyway, so far running away has gotten her pie and pancakes, so why stop?  


The pancakes are slightly burnt. Larissa isn’t sure if its because Mashkov was distracted or if he’s just a bad cook. Larissa digs in anyway, adding copious amounts of maple syrup (the fancy Canadian kind, probably from Jack) to make up for it. Mashkov uncharacteristically ignores his own plate in favor of asking her about her art while texting under the table. Larissa is pretty sure he’s trying to be subtle, but she’s also confident that the Russian has never been subtle about anything in his life.  


“Are you telling Jack I’m here?” Larissa tries to be intimidating when she asks that, but the fact she is in her pajamas and her general emotional instability makes that difficult.  


Mashkov looks up guiltily. “Zimmboni is being worried about you,” he says.  


“I left a note.”  


“No, I mean he is being worried for a while,” Mashkov the emphatically. Larissa wonders if all her friends have noticed that she’s a mess. “Can I tell him it is okay for him and Shitty to come over?” Mashkov asks tentatively.  
Larissa sighs, maybe running away wasn’t such a great plan after all. “Yeah,” she responds. 

Jack brings Shitty into the kitchen then promptly drags Mashkov out of his own condo. The whole situation would be comical if looking at Shitty didn’t make Larissa want to cry. Shitty settles into the chair next to her, and suddenly she can’t stay silent anymore. “I didn’t me– ” she starts, but Shitty talks at the same time, “ I’m really fu—” It breaks the tension, just a little bit. Shitty raises his eyebrows at her, telling her to go first.  


“I didn’t mean what I said, about becoming your dad. You’re never going to be like him. I’m so sorry. I think I was just scared of you growing up and moving on without me, which isn’t fair,” Larissa spills.  


“You were right you know,” Shitty raises a hand to stop her protest, “Not about becoming my dad, but ... I think I was losing track of who I wanted to be. Its just ... when your best friends are a pro athlete and an amazing artist, sometimes its easy to feel insecure.”  


“You’re at Harvard Law! That’s no small thing,” Larissa interjects.  


“I know,” Shitty says with a smile, “And I’m sorry to. What I said was cruel. I just, Lardo, you said you didn’t want a long-distance relationship, then you moved four hours away.” He looks sad when he says that and suddenly, with a nervous flutter in her stomach, she realizes what he’s trying to say.  


“Shitty,” she says tentatively, “If you wanted a relationship why didn’t you say something?”  


“I thought you knew. I mean the guys have been chirping me about being in love with you since your frog year.”  


“Yeah, but I thought that was just chirping,” Larissa reaches out a hand to him with a small smile, “We really were stupid, huh?”  


Shitty grabs her hand. “Yeah a little bit.”  


“Byron Sterling Knight,” she can’t help but grin at the indignant look he gives at her using his real name, “Will you steady with me?”  


He pulls her into his lap, “If you tell the guys my real name, I’m breaking up with you.”  


“Seems fair.”

Later, when they’re lounging on Alexei Maskov’s couch, having finished off the pancakes and talked about trying to communicate better, Larissa turns her head to look up at Shitty from where she’s leaning on his chest, “Do you think we should tell Jack and Tater they can come back?”  


“Nah,” Shitty says lazily, “They’ll figure it out.” We’ll figure it out. It goes unsaid, but hangs contently between them. They have no idea what they’re doing, but they’ll figure it out. And maybe that’s the fun part.


End file.
